God'S Pity On Poor Kings, They Know No Gentle Rest; The North And South Cry Out, Cries Come From East And West, "Come, Open This New Dock, Building, Bazaar Or Fair." Lord, What A Wretched Life Such Men Must Bear. They're Followed, Watched And Spied, No Liberty They Know; Some Eye Will Watch Them Still, No Matter Where They Go. When In Green Lanes I Muse, Alone, And Hear Birds Sing, God'S Pity Then, Say I, On Some Poor King.